


Tear Me Apart

by littlefrog1025



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, Blackmail, Blood Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefrog1025/pseuds/littlefrog1025
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs to get to grandmother's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tear Me Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenBee4Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBee4Ever/gifts).



> For QueenBee4Ever who did a little internet digging for me. Thank you much!!! MUWAH!!! Hope you like it :)

* * *

“No, no, no, no, no. Please. Come on. Please,” Stiles begs as he turns the key in the ignition one more time. Nothing but sputtering, mechanical grinding. He bangs his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck!” Immediately, he smoothly runs his hand over the dashboard, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he apologizes to his jeep. “I just don’t exactly understand why you decided now would be a good time to get sick. That’s all. That’s all I’m saying.”

He takes his cellphone out of the cupholder. Full battery, no signal. Great.

He sighs and looks out the windows around him. He’s parked under the sole light source on the otherwise, dark and deserted [road](https://alysonwright.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/mg_2429.jpg), on a long stretch of asphalt that heads toward Beacon Hills. Which just so happens to be about 20 miles from where he’s at, according to his GPS.

The road perpendicular to him is another long stretch of road, but it leads just two miles northwest back to his grandmother’s house, and there’s nothing by deep woods surrounding him. “This can not be my life right now.”

He gets out of the car with his phone. He roams around the road, trying to pick up cellular weak spots, to call AAA, or at the very least, his dad. Or Scott. “Goddamnit.”

He gets back into the car, having no luck with his cellphone, and taps on the GPS, bringing up the route to his grandmother’s house. He grabs a pen from the console and writes the directions down on the back of a receipt paper from Arby’s.

He then rummages through the ‘[emergency kit](http://www.survival-supply.com/images/P9.jpg)’ his dad (thankfully) made him keep in the car. He pulls out the flashlight and [utility knife](http://www.harborfreight.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/i/m/image_18437.jpg), seeing as how they were the only things still left inside after he and Scott drunkenly decided to play with everything in it one boring Saturday night.

He grabs his [red hoodie](http://www.probikeshop.fr/images/products2/187/68182/68182-NIKE-6.0-Sweat-BASIC-LOGO-FULL-ZIP-HOODY-Rouge2.jpg) and slips it on, then grabs his phone, wallet, and the keys from the ignition. He sighs with resignation before, “Fuck it,” and climbs out of the jeep then locks the car.

He’s two miles from Grandma Stilinski’s house and figures on-foot it’ll take him less than two hours to get there. If he cuts through the woods, it’ll take him about an hour and 15 minutes. Give or take.

Stiles knows walking through the dark woods at night is probably the stupidest idea in the history of ideas, but he’s fairly confident that there’s nothing to fear but raccoons. He’s not near any area known to be populated with mountain lions, or bears, and he’s taken that particular path before. Even when he was young. Granted it was during daylight, but he’s knows it like the back of his hand, and feels secure enough to embark on it back to his grandmother’s house.

He crosses the long road in front of him, leaving behind his beloved jeep, toward the tall, black trees…

 

* * *

He steps over the edge, passing the threshold of where the open field of grass ends and the woods begin. He’s tentative at first, (because who wouldn’t be?) with abbreviated steps into the dirt. He turns on his flashlight, swinging it back and forth, checking for…anything.

Nothing.

He takes one big, cautious step… Then another… And another… His feet find the worn, [dirt path](http://readbuzz.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/headsup1.jpg) he’s familiar with and he inches along it, still turning his flashlight to-and-fro at the slightest of noises. “Get a fucking grip, Stiles. You wanted to go his route, so man up, dude.” He takes a deep breath, standing up straighter, less fearful. “Alright, dude. One foot in front of the other then we’re at grandma’s house. Piece of cake.”

He strides a little more naturally along the path, lighting his way with the flashlight, and checking his phone for a signal. No such luck with the phone. It seems the further he goes into the woods, the less than likely chance he has of being able to make a rescue call.

He tried to play music through his music apps, to calm his nerves, and scare off any nightly creatures attempting to sniff out the “intruder,” but he needs Wifi to do that apparently, and his luck of achieving that in spite of a cellular signal is not at all in the realm of possibility. Though it didn’t stop him from trying. His game apps are down as well.

Guess he’s back to just walking alone in the creepy, silent woods…

 

* * *

The woods don’t stay silent for long. In fact, after what Stiles just heard, he wishes they did. Maybe he imagined it. He'd had to have done so. The mind can create all types of powerful things, and conjure up all types of fears, and exploit the ones already there.

But then he hears it again. Louder. Longer… Closer.

Mountain lions don’t howl, and there are no wolves in California. At least there aren’t supposed to be… He takes the utility knife from his pocket and pushes out the blade.

He slowly turns around, shining his light, looking everywhere.

Nothing.

He turns back around and continues along the path. His steps a little quicker than before.

He stops. Another howl…

“Fuck,” he swallows, terrified.

Then he hears it—a purring rumble. Less purr though, more rumble. Like from the bowels of anger. A vicious vibration pulled from something sinister and primal. A growl. Cracked through the eerie silence and reaching Stiles’ gut. He swings his light toward it, trying hard to catch the terrified breath caught in his throat.

He sees nothing. The only sound being that of the hooting owl above him, that sweeps just above his head and further into the blackness, making him gasp and screech. “Fuck.” His heart is racing wildly.

Then it happens again. That beastly rumble. That growl.

Stiles feet have never moved so fast. Not even during lacrosse practice. They pick up even faster when he hears the steady padding of something moving behind him, and the hot, wet breath of it on his neck.

He keeps going, not looking back, because he hates when they do that in horror movies. _Just keep going, and don’t stop._ _Don't look._ So he does.

His foot trips over a branch and he finds himself tumbling down a hill into a [clearing](http://walkaroundlondon.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Trees-framing-a-lovely-clearing-in-Elmstead-Woods-Green-Chain.jpg), clutching his flashlight. Somewhere along the way, he managed to drop his utility knife. He takes big gulps of shaky breaths, trying to still his drumming heartbeat.

He manages long enough to remember how to breathe properly when the flicker of orange light captures his attention. A fire. A built fire. In the middle of the clearing. Four logs surround it. Someone sits quietly on one of them, their back to Stiles.

Stiles sits up, a bit bruised from his tumble. He tries ever so quietly to stand—

“There’s no need to attempt at being quiet. Not after that loud fall you just took,” said a velvety-smooth voice resting before the fire.

Stiles dusts the dirt off of his clothes and picks the leaves off his person and out of his hair.

“What are you doing in the woods at night?”

“I could ask you that as well.”

The man’s shoulders hunch up in a shrug. “I’m with friends.”

Stiles looks around. There’s no one around but the two of them.

“They went to go scrounge up some _food_ ,” the man says before Stiles can make a smart comment.

“I know better than to ask strangers for a ride, but seeing as how I’ve already decided a walk in the woods would be a good idea, so why not take this new, daring nature of mine all the way and ask if at all possible, if your friends, when they get back, can take me to my grandmother’s house please.”

“They don’t have a car.”

“I thought you said they went to get food…”

The man finally turns around to look at Stiles. “I did.”

He’s the most beautiful man Stiles has ever seen. Hair the color of ink, with pear-colored eyes underneath thick eyebrows that match the dark beard on his chiseled face. He gives Stiles a slick grin that’s all danger and sex. Stiles can just imagine the hard body of muscle beneath the tight, grey Henley shirt covering his chest and he wants to just fall into his lap.

“They went on foot,” he asks, swallowing down the squeak of arousal jumping out of his voice. He clears his throat and the man smiles at him again, as though he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking.

“Something like that,” the man says. “Come here. I can’t see you.”

“Why do you need to see me?”

The man stands, and Stiles takes a step back. Stiles is frozen in place as the man approaches, closing the wide gap between them. He stands a little over a foot from Stiles. “There. That’s better.”

“W-What is?”

“Your eyes. They’re like pennies.”

“Is-Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“I like them. So, it’s a good thing.”

Stiles is a good second away from melting, and he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be pooling with heat from a strange man he met in the woods. He should turn back the way he was headed and get to his grandmother’s house. “Wolves,” Stiles blurts out. “I heard a wolf. Which is weird because they don’t habitat in California.”

“But you heard it.” Stiles nods. “Was it loud? Did it scare you,” he asks Stiles with an amused, yet sultry smile.

“It was a wolf. Of course it scared me.”

“Well, I’m here now, Little Red. I’ll protect you.”

“From a wolf? No. I don’t think you can.”

“You’d be surprised.” He grabs Stiles’ arm, making him gasp. The man yanks Stiles closer to him and noses at his neck, smelling him deeply.

“W-What are y-you doing,” Stiles asks.

“You smell so damn good.”

“What… What do I smell like?”

“Desire. And fear.”

Stiles pulls away, out of the man’s grasp. “I have to go. I have to get to my grandmother’s house.”

“You should stay. You told me there’s wolves out there.”

“I, uh, think they’re gone now. Your fire might have scared them away.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re not exactly reassuring me here.”

“Because I want you to stay.” He pulls Stiles close to him again. Chest to chest. Stiles gulps, standing a hair’s breadth from the creepy, albeit sexy, man. “What’s your name, Little Red?”

“What’s yours?”

“I asked you first,” he says with a smile.

Stiles licks his lips. His mouth suddenly gone dry and basic speech forgotten.

“Come on. Tell me your name, Little Red.” He leans into Stiles’ ear and whispers, “I want to know the name of the sweet boy with the copper eyes. That smells like want.”

Stiles’ whole body flushes hot.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” the man says, sliding his hand on Stiles’ chest, right where his heart should be. “It sounds like my name.”

Stiles pulls away again, making an even bigger gap between them than before. “I really have to go. Sorry.” Without looking back, he runs back up the hill he fell down and in the direction of his grandmother’s house.

He chastises himself in harsh mutters. First, deciding to trek through the deep, dark woods, getting chased by a wolf (?), then being seduced by a (hot) stranger just hanging out in the woods at night. He’s never this sloppy. Never this…dumb.

He continues on, jogging at an even pace along the path. His flashlight guiding his way. He felt a little safer, knowing there were other people in the woods, too. Despite how odd that was, and how odd they seemed to be.

 

* * *

He happily broke through the woods and into his grandmother’s [backyard](http://lunar.thegamez.net/gardenidea/front-garden-fencing-ideas/backyard-fencing-trends-garden-landscaping-solutions-800x533.jpg), hopping over the fence. He’s never been so relieved. He went to the backdoor and lifted the dancing frog lawn ornament to retrieve her spare key. He slips the key into the lock and goes inside, entering the [kitchen](http://www.homedit.com/enjoy-the-cottage-decor-in-your-home/cottage-kitchen-e1279243536879/). The lights are on… “Grandma!”

He takes a glass from the cabinet and pours himself some cool water from the tap, then guzzles it like he hasn’t had a drop to drink in 30 years.

“Grandma,” he calls again. “ _Babcia_ ,” he calls again in Polish.

A knock at the backdoor draws his attention. He carefully peeks through the curtained window on the door, then steps back, scared.

The knock comes again.

Stiles remains silent, and still. Not knowing what else to do…

“Open up, Little Red. I know you’re in there. I saw you,” sounds the voice on the other side of the door.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

Stiles did, and for whatever twisted reason, he wasn’t so sure he didn’t want it, too.

Against his better judgment, he hesitantly opened the door. The man, the dark-haired, sexy man from the woods, stood on the other side, leaning against the door frame with that wolfish grin that made Stiles want to beg.

“You left this in the woods.” The man holds up the utility knife Stiles dropped. “Would you like it back? So you feel more safe.”

Stiles snatches it from his hand. Annoyed at the implication of him being weak and scared…because he was. He slips it into the pocket of his hoodie.

The man steps into the house uninvited. He kicks the door shut behind him. It closes with a slam, making Stiles jump.“You’re adorable.”

He steps closer to Stiles. “So, this is your grandmother’s house? It’s…cute. Where is she?”

“I-I-I don’t know.”

“Maybe she got eaten by wolves.”

“First, not funny. Second, I _did_ hear a wolf howl.”

“I believe you, Little Red.” His fern green eyes rake over Stiles’ lithe body making him shudder inside. He comes closer and sniffs Stiles again, dragging his nose down his long neck, to his collarbone, and back up to his jawline. “The smell of you is driving me insane.” He presses a light kiss under Stiles’ chin. “Tell me your name, Little Red," he says, kissing Stiles’ along his jaw.

“S-Stiles. What’s your name?”

He lifts Stiles up and places him the counter. He kisses him. A softer, more sensual kiss than Stiles anticipated from the man oozing rapacious sex from his every pore. “You can call me The—” _kiss_ —“Big—” _kiss_ —“Bad—” _kiss_ —“Wolf.” _Kiss_.

“Are you going to keep teasing me about that,” Stiles asks, running his hands through the man’s hair.

“I don’t plan on teasing you at all,” he smirks.

The Big Bad Wolf grabs a fist full of Stiles’ hair and kisses him hard and bruising. He grabs Stiles and lifts him off the counter. Stiles wraps his legs around the wolf’s waist and lets himself be carried into the [living room](http://coolshire.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Cottage-living-room-decor.jpg).

He drops Stiles on the couch with a bounce then toes off his shoes. Stiles copies.

The wolf takes off his shirt, revealing hard, tan muscle under dark hair and Stiles just wants to… He surges up onto his knees and places a wet kiss in the soft line of hair that trails further into the wolf’s dark jeans, then licks into his navel.

The wolf keens with a low rumble in his chest.

Stiles follows upward, kissing and licking the traces of the wolf’s every muscle, reaching his right nipple, giving it a little bite. The wolf moans in response. Stiles kisses his way across the wolf’s broad chest, nuzzling in the hair there a bit, before capturing his left nipple and giving it the same playful bite.

Stiles’ lips make their way to the wolf’s own. The wolf licks into his mouth and Stiles whimpers, making the wolf grin. “Undress,” the wolf tells him.

Stiles slides off the sofa. He’s never had someone watch him take his clothes off before. At least not the way the wolf is watching him. He feels on display, ready to be eaten.

And he wants the wolf to devour every bite.

He unzips his jeans and lets them slide down his legs, then pulls them off his ankles. He takes off his hoodie next, then his T-shirt, wondering how his broke down car turned into him about to have sex with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

The wolf grabs the waistband of his boxers and pulls him close. He stares smugly at Stiles as he yanks them down Stiles’ body. Stiles steps out of them and pushes them to the side.

The wolf kisses him. It’s relentless and primal, driven by instinct and passion. Want. Stiles meets him fervor for fervor, making it his mission to bruise and redden the wolf’s mouth just as he’s abusing his own pink lips.

Stiles’ hands unbuckle the wolf’s belt and unzip his jeans. His hand slides inside. No underwear, making Stiles moan by the surprise. His lean fingers wrap around hard, velvet skin and squeeze. The wolf bites down on his neck with a possessive claim, causing Stiles to squeeze his cock harder, and the wolf to growl through his teeth around Stiles’ neck.

With a sudden desire, the wolf pushes Stiles onto the sofa and hovers over him. “What do you want? What does my Little Red want from his wolf?”

Stiles runs his fingers down the wolf’s lips. “Your voice. I love the sound of your voice.”

“The better to whisper to you.”

Stiles stares up at him, looking straight into the wolf’s magnetic eyes. “And your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“The better to see you with.”

Stiles takes his hand and entwines their fingers. “And your hands. I love your hands.”

“The better to hold you with.”

The wolf dips his head down, placing a chaste kiss on Stiles’ lips.

“Your mouth. I love your mouth.”

He leans in close to Stiles’ ear and whispers: “The better to eat you with.”

“Eat me. Eat me please,” Stiles begs.

“Absolutely.”

The wolf’s grin spreads ear-to-ear at the naked boy beneath him before nipping at his neck and moving down his pale, lissom body to the patch of hair between his legs.

Stiles maneuvers upward a bit, giving the wolf enough room to settle between his legs.

He shudders at the hot, wet feeling of the wolf lapping at his pulsing hole.

He picks up Stiles’ legs and drapes them over his shoulders for a deeper angle. Pushing his tongue in and out of the quivering boy, listening to him stammer and feeling him shake.

His tongue slides out of the tight, little hole and is replaced by the wolf’s middle finger. Stiles grips the edge of the sofa so hard his knuckles turn white.

The wolf slips in another finger while sucking gentle on his balls. Stiles is losing his mind. He’s never felt so good, and never wants it to stop.

The wolf’s fingers hook and nudge that sweet spot that sends a shock through the boy, making his scream, “Fuck! Oh, God. Oh, my God…”

The wolf keeps at it, plugging away with his fingers and smirking at the boy losing control on them.

Stiles is a good minute from being destroyed, completely wrecked and blown away…but then the wolf pulls his fingers from his body, and Stiles can actually hear himself whine at the loss of them, and the disappearance of his approaching orgasm.

The wolf stands and sheds the rest of his clothing. Stiles drinks in the sight of his Grecian body, and girth-y, long cock. Stiles’ mouth is suddenly wet with the thought of putting it to use on the uncut meat between the wolf’s strong thighs.

The wolf picks Stiles’ hoodie off the floor and tosses it to him. “Put it on.”

Without question, Stiles slips the hoodie on, leaving it unzipped.

The wolf moves closer, and guides Stiles’ head toward his erection. Stiles takes him into his mouth and works him over as hard and as skilled as he can. He’s good at giving head. Great, he might boast, so he knows the primal noises the wolf is making means he’s close to spilling down his throat. He wants him to. He wants him to so badly he’s near is own orgasm at the thought of it.

But the wolf slips out his mouth with a hiss. “You’re a little too good at that.”

“Then let me finish.”

“No. That’s not how I want you to come for me. You still wet for me, Little Red?”

Stiles nods.

“Good.” The wolf climbs onto the sofa and hovers above Stiles again.

Stiles feels the wet tip of the wolf’s cock at his entrance. Then the slow push of a hard dick stretching him, and he loses his breath.

“That feel good? You like that?”

All Stiles can do is nod. The wolf’s fat member slicking in and out, painfully slow, of his body.

“You’re so tight.”

“But I’m not a fucking flower. Tear me apart or get off me.”

The wolf smiles at him. “If you wish.”

Stiles watches as the wolf’s eyes bleed from green to garnet red. Before Stiles can utter a word, the wolf pounds into him with one hard thrust, hitting his prostate. Stiles moans loudly as his fingertips dig into the wolf’s shoulders.

The wolf growls and Stiles opens his eyes to the red ring around the man’s own eyes, and his fallen incisors that poke out in fangs.

He takes in the petrified look on Stiles’ face. “Scared, Little Red? You should be.” He hits Stiles’ prostate again, making the boy shout out and shake. He does it again. And again. And again. Until his rhythm graduates from steady and impressed, to hungry and lecherous.

Stiles feels like a rag doll. He egged on the man and he let loose the beast. Those violent red eyes bore into him like a hot knife through butter. And that’s what he was, melting like a snow cone in the summer heat under the man he challenged. Dared, to fuck him like an animal. His challenge is met and now he’s brought to his knees, wanting mercy, while begging for more.

He reached between them to grab his own cock— “Don’t you fucking dare,” the wolf growled at him, then slammed into Stiles so severe, hitting his spot so roughly, Stiles eyes watered.

He was close. So close…

“I watched you. I saw you the moment you stepped foot into my woods, and I smelled you just as you came into the field. I had to have you. I had to claim you, Little Red. I had to make you mine. All mine.”

“Claim me. I’m yours. Please,” Stiles cries. Stiles has no idea what he's saying. What either of them are saying. He was too far gone. Feeling too much pleasure. Running hot throughout his body and shivering from how good it all felt.

The wolf kisses him violently, biting his tongue, and leaving the taste of blood in Stiles’ mouth. It ran from his parted lips and dripped along his chin and jaw. The wolf lapped sloppily at the red liquid, smearing it all over Stiles’ mouth in bloody kisses while continuing to ram into the boy.

The wolf bit down on Stiles’ neck and Stiles dug blunt, human fingernails into his back and dragged them down as he came long, loud, and hard.

The wolf pulled from Stiles’ neck and roared above him, filling him up with hot, wet cum.

Stiles drew him close and wrapped heavy arms around the wolf’s back as they tried to recover their breath.

“…Was that enough?”

“Enough of what,” Stiles asks. His arms fall from around him, feeling boneless, and the simple position too taxing for his taffy body at the moment.

“Did I tear you apart enough?”

“Yes. Three times yes.”

“Good.” The wolf leaves light, feather kisses along Stiles’ mouth…

He stops. Feeling the cold, sharp edge of something pressed against his larynx. His eyes burn a brighter red. His slowly lifts from the boy’s pale neck speckled with moles, sitting up, with his eyes focused on the hazelnut-colored pennies under him.

Stiles holds the utility knife to the wolf’s neck with the greatest intention. The wolf can smell it on him. The determination seeps from his skin in waves.

“What’s your name?”

“I told you.”

Stiles presses the blade harder against his throat, drawing a bead of red paint from the breached skin.

“Derek.”

“Derek, where is my grandmother?”

“She’s alive.”

“She better be. Where?”

“With my betas. At my den.”

“Betas?”

“My ‘children’. So to speak. The ones I turned.”

“You really going to try and convince me that you’re a werewolf…?”

“You saw me shift. And you liked it.”

“I might have. Depends.”

“There is no depends. You came so hard you cried. You wanted me. Just like I wanted you.”

“And right now, I want my grandmother. Tell your ‘children’ to let her go.”

“Do you really want an old lady roaming the dark woods all alone?”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I spend the night with you here. In the morning, and I’ll let my betas bring her back home safely.”

“And what are we going to do until morning?”

“Fuck. Until I’ve had enough and it hurts for you to even think about moving.”

Stiles raises an intrigued eyebrow. The wolf grins.

“You look good like this: naked, blood all over your face, smelling like cum with a knife in your hand.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth turns up. It shouldn’t feel like a compliment, but it does.

“How do I know you’re not lying about my grandmother?”

“You don’t.”

“And I’m supposed to let your truthfulness depend on how badly you want to fuck me again?”

“Yes. I could have snapped your neck minutes ago?”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Because I like you like this—fearless. Almost as much as I like you terrified.”

“And I like you like this, with a blade at your neck.”

“Say ‘yes’.”

Stiles gives him a dubious look. “Proof of life first.”

Derek, in an incredibly quick move, takes the knife from Stiles and tosses it across the room. Stiles takes note of the long claws extended from his fingers.

Derek sits back, picks his pants up off the floor and pulls his cellphone from the back pocket. He retracks his claws and speed dials a number. “Erica. Send me a picture of the old woman.” He hangs up and tosses the phone to Stiles.

The phone beeps. Message. Stiles opens it. It’s a picture of Stiles’ grandmother at a table playing what looks like cards with a handsome man with curly hair and a scarf wrapped around his neck. With them is a sexy black man with thoughtful eyes. His grandmother is smiling.

“Who’s the black guy,” Stiles asks interested.

Derek snatches his phone from Stiles’ hands angrily, feeling jealous. “We told her we’re friends of yours. She makes amazing [peanut butter cookies ](http://leitesculinaria.com/81915/recipes-peanut-butter-cookies.html)by the way.”

“You want me to stay here, letting you fuck me brainless, while my grandmother plays gin rummy with two werewolves?”

“Three werewolves. And yes.”

“And what happens in the morning?”

“She comes home. Alive and happy.”

“And you?”

Derek crawls back over Stiles again. He sucks on Stiles’ neck, listening to him moan like a wanton.

He licks the indent of his teeth marks on the soft, pale skin, no doubt having left a [hickey](http://thejuicer1.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/hickey.jpg) there to appear in the morning. “Whenever you come to visit your grandmother, you pay me a visit, too. And I’ll look after her when you’re not here.”

“That last part sounds like both a threat and a favor.”

“It is. Say ‘yes’, Stiles.”

Stiles changes their position, swiftly managing to flip Derek over on his back with himself straddling the man’s legs. “Open your mouth.”

Derek parts his lips. Stiles runs his thumb along his fangs. He moves closer and licks the sharp, pointed teeth, making Derek’s wolf growl. “Don’t ever chase me through the woods like that again.”

"That wasn't me. That was Erica."

"Then tell her never to chase me like that again."

"Do I get to chase you, Little Red?"

"No. Not a fan of being treated like prey."

“So you say,” Derek says with an eye roll.

Stiles readies to climb off Derek--

"Okay. Fine. No chasing," Derek concedes.

“Good. Now, take me upstairs. I don’t think it’s a good idea to come all over my grandmother’s couch.”

Derek sits up, lifting them both off the couch with Stiles wrapped around his waist.

“Wait. Grab the knife.”

“Don’t need it,” Derek says, snapping his claws out and running them lightly down Stiles’ bare chest.

Stiles has no idea how a stalled engine lead to him having rough, kinky sex with a werewolf who kidnapped his grandmother and is using her as blackmail to keep having sex with him, but he’ll be sure to express gratitude to whatever dark sorcerer is responsible.

They at least deserve a thank you note.


End file.
